


Lens and Liberation

by Feierlich



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Realistic, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-04 03:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12160986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feierlich/pseuds/Feierlich
Summary: Putting an original, practical spin on a popular fantasy offering, Lens and Liberation details the adventures of a photographer through a world of catchable creatures. There are no canon characters. The world is not at risk. And this is no action-packed thrill ride: it is life.But life is ever-changing...Regularly updated.





	1. Prologue: i

 It all started with a letter.   
  
This particular letter was much like any other: a sealed envelope, stamped and certified to make its way between destinations. And much like any other letter, it had been delivered through the Pelipper Post – the preferred form of transit for all such items – to a mailbox, where it sat to await its eventual receipt.  
  
The letter had been delivered that morning to Lavaridge Town, a locale in the Hoenn region that had once been little more than a hamlet, a quick stop for those who wished to partake of one or both of its vanities. These vanities took the form of the Pokémon Gym and the local hot springs, the latter of which were said to possess therapeutic properties. Despite these attractions, though, the relative inaccessibility of the town due to some impossibly steep ledges and a dauntingly long detour had forced all but the most dedicated tourists to give up their plans for visiting the area. Several years’ worth of saving by the community had worked to break through this obstacle; with funds gathered by citizens and the few businesses in the area at the time, Lavaridge was able to hire a construction crew and demolish a fair portion of the hillside in order to carve a proper set of stairs into the cliffs, opening the way for commerce to fully embrace their home. Because of this, the town had expanded to become the second-largest populated area in all of Hoenn, with housing and storefronts extending around the bottom of the volcano that provided them with heat and geothermal power.   
  
One of these houses belonged to the Ariae family. The family consisted of a mother and daughter: the mother was fairly respected in her town, having built up a reputation for reliability through years of hard work and perseverance. Letters were common within her house, and she’d received many over the course of her family’s stay in their home: some from relatives, some from old friends, and some from merchandisers who sold things that she was interested in.  
  
But the letter that came that day was different, as its recipient would soon see.  
  
-/-  
  
It was about ten o’clock that morning when Rhea Ariae walked outside her home, her arms heavy with the weight of that day’s trash. The smell of sugar wafted outside as she shouldered her way over the threshold, clinging to the plastic garbage bag as if to bury the stench of waste in a sea of sweetness, but these efforts were hardly necessary as the woman marched the bag down the walkway and to the sidewalk, where it was promptly dumped into the container set aside for the disposal workers to pick up.   
  
That task accomplished, Rhea took a moment to peer down the road in search of said workers, who had proved somewhat late in attending to her portion of the city in recent weeks. She’d heard something about the change in schedule: less pay, longer hours, and a somewhat uncaring manager had forced a strike amongst the workers… or something to that effect, anyway. Regardless, it just wasn’t right to have to punish paying customers because of an issue with employees, and perhaps she’d write a note for the trash people when they came over that day in order to better state such an opinion. But they most likely wouldn’t be arriving for a few hours, so she shrugged and turned her attention to the next order of business: the mailbox.   
  
The little green flag opposite the red one was sticking straight up - there was something inside the box. So, opening the back of the mailbox, she reached inside and retrieved that day’s mail. This took the shape of a small mountain of paper, which she flipped through whilst she had the convenience of the trash can nearby for the disposal of junk.   
  
Bills were the standard fare that day, it seemed: utility payments, car insurance, and her daughter’s tuition fees, the last of which Rhea would be giving to her daughter to take care of. The trash bin did in fact see some use as she continued to sift through the pile, taking the few catalogs she’d been waiting for and tossing the flyers for things like Poké Mart sales – and very nearly threw out an envelope along with one. A mad grab saved it from entering the depths of the bin, and she brought it to the top of the pile, scanning the return address almost absently.  
  
A moment later, she was dashing back inside the house, calling her daughter’s name.  
  
-/-  
  
Rhea’s daughter lived with her mother, keeping a room in the back of the house so as not to bother her mother with her own concerns. The choice to remain where others her age might have struck out into the world for themselves had been a deliberate one, for this girl had always been somewhat attached to her parent.  
  
At home, Shen was a somewhat quiet girl, keeping her thoughts and activities to herself in the relative privacy of her own room. This room was where she spent nearly half of each day, taking meals only when she wasn’t working, studying, or sleeping. Her mother didn’t mind this much; Shen was a good girl, after all, and any worries that she might have had about her little girl being a hermit were wiped away the moment that girl stepped outside the house each day.  
  
Outside, Shen was practically a force of nature. She’d long become a well-known personality within their town, mostly being known for her work with a hobby that she’d had since childhood: photography. With a camera, Shen was a savant, and nearly every single postcard sold by the local general store featured a picture that she’d taken at some point since she’d first hit upon the idea of dedicating her life to capturing images. The popularity of her work had allowed her to pursue that dream.   
  
This pursuance, in turn, had attracted a number of opportunities for her to turn her work into something a bit more worthwhile. Or, at least, such had been the line delivered to her by many a prospective employer. But Shen hadn’t been interested in working for gossip tabloids or celebrity rags, for her portfolio, when she had taken the time to build it, had been given to the newspaper.   
  
The newspaper in question was the Hoenn Standard Times, a weekly publication that spread the fruits of professional journalism to every corner of the continent. The men and women that worked for such an organization were some of the best in their field, and their efforts had earned their parent paper more than a few awards for the depth of its storytelling and the weight of emotion that went into every single photograph. It was these people, Shen had decided, that she wanted to work for, and she had waited for weeks – three of them, to be exact – for her application to be reviewed. Those weeks had been a study in stress and worry, with hope becoming a thing that she did not dare to touch.   
  
So when her mother called her, she knew what was coming.   
  
-/-  
  
“Shen! Shen, you have a letter!”   
  
Rhea had made her way through the house by that point, coming to a stop in front of her daughter’s door. Thankfully, she didn’t have to knock in order to get the girl’s attention, for within seconds, the door opened, the sounds of a television program fading to silence. Immediately afterward, Shen’s brown-haired head made an appearance, followed closely by the rest of her.   
  
“It’s here?” she asked, knowing full well that she wouldn’t have to explain what ‘it’ was. Both her and her mother knew exactly what she was expecting.  
  
“It’s here.”  
  
Shen heard the unfathomable concern of a mother contained in that two-word sentence and smiled.  
  
“Well, let’s go open it!”  
  
-/-  
  
About five minutes later, both mother and daughter were sitting in the living room, with the letter resting upon a table before them. Silence reigned in that space, for the good-hearted nature in which Shen had received her delivery had faded as the true significance of the document weighed upon her.   
  
How odd it was, she thought, that such a small thing as a letter would have such an effect on her. But it was so, for the words printed on the paper that was undoubtedly within the envelope on the table would dictate the course of her life for a very long time to come.   
  
Were her bid to be accepted by the newspaper, it would be the realization of a dream. However, she would most likely have to leave everything she knew behind in order to take that step: her family and her home. The thought of taking that step into the unknown was at once chilling and exciting, and the mixture of these emotions twisted her stomach into uncomfortable shapes – and she hadn’t so much as  _touched_  the letter.   
  
But this moment and all its gut-churning fear was something that she had wanted. So, allowing the wistful smile that that knowledge brought to cross her lips, she picked up the letter, tore the adhesive that kept the envelope sealed, and peered inside.   
  
Within the envelope was a single sheet of paper, folded twice upon itself in order to allow it to fit inside its prison. And as she unfolded it, words came into focus.   
  
_Dear Ms. Ariae,  
  
We at the Hoenn Standard Times wish to inform you that we have received your portfolio and request to be considered for the position of Field Journalist. As you may know, one opening for this position was recently made vacant. Amongst the many applications that we have received for this opening, we have chosen to select yours for further scrutiny, and are pleased to offer you a paid trial period in which we may test your skills.  
  
This 90-day trial period, set to commence upon your arrival at our office in Mauville City, will take place in the Kalos region. This is an area that we wish to open up to our readers, many of which will never travel, and we wish to allow you the opportunity to work in our branch in beautiful Lumiose City.   
  
As your pictures will allow an entire continent to experience a new world from the comfort of their homes, workplaces, and anywhere they may wish to read a newspaper or make use of our PokéNav application, we expect any images that you send to us to be of the highest quality. Your colleagues in the Kalos region will assist you in ensuring that this expectation is met.  
  
If you wish to accept this offer, please notify our office by phone within three days of receiving this letter. We hope that you will enjoy your time spent with us!  
  
If applicable to yourself, please ensure that you take no more than one Pokémon along with you to your posting, for space on our transit system is limited.  
  
Sincerely,  
\- Leoric Blomford  
Editor-In-Chief, Hoenn Standard Times_  
  
Shen stared at the paper for a good ten minutes, reading and rereading every line to make sure that the letter wasn’t a hallucination.   
  
_Oh, my God. Oh, my God. This… this can’t be real._  
  
Even though she’d known the extent of her accomplishments at home, she hadn’t truly been prepared for her application to even be  _considered_ for a position, let alone accepted for it. The fact that it had been – the proof inherent in the letter she held in shaking fingers – was a world-shattering experience, something that logic dictated could not possibly be true.   
  
_They want me to work for them._  
  
That knowledge alone was the key to a world filled with opportunity. Working with a newspaper would enable her to travel, to see places that no one else could access without an entire team of Pokémon and a great deal of influence. It was everything that she’d dreamed for – a dream now come true.   
  
Rhea, however, was not able to see the letter herself. Because of this, she had watched the color drain from her daughter’s face, but though she wanted to say something, to understand just what the letter she’d gotten had contained, she kept silent. Shen, after all, looked as if she’d shatter if pressed about it. After a while longer, though, her daughter lowered the paper and settled back into the couch with a long, drawn-out sigh, and Rhea finally got the chance to find out what was going on.  
  
“What is it, honey?” she asked. “What did they say?”  
  
“Well… they want to hire me, Mom. They saw my portfolio, and they want me to come work for them. They’re looking for someone to help in the Kalos region, so I’d have to get there first, but it pays really well, and…”  
  
She trailed off as she noticed the look on her mother’s face. Something had settled into those aging cheeks, deepening the creases that lined them, and though it took her a few moments to figure out the source of such a change, Shen was horrified to discover the specific emotion: pain.   
  
Some deep, hidden part of her had known that telling her mother that she would have to leave the house – perhaps permanently – would wound the person that had kept her safe for her entire life. She was her only child, after all, and the only person to keep her company in the later years of her life, which had turned her once golden hair to platinum blonde and streaked her face with wrinkles. For that child to leave the house now and go overseas would be nothing more than a death blow to whatever hopes she’d had of keeping her daughter close and away from the dangers of the world outside their city – and Shen knew exactly how that would feel. “Oh, Mom…”  
  
“It’s okay, honey. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, but…”   
  
She’d known the size of the wound she’d open, but actually  _seeing_  it was something different, and in that moment, her resolve faltered. No dream job, no opportunity, nothing was worth the stake she’d driven into her mother’s heart. She could find something else to do, something closer to home. Something that wouldn’t tear the two of them apart. She opened her mouth, prepared to make the sacrifice.  
  
But Rhea saw her daughter’s expression, the regret in her eyes, and smiled. “Honey, it’s okay. Every little bird has to fly the nest sometime, right? And you’re a big girl now – you don’t need me to shelter you. Take the job. Go for that dream of yours, and make me proud, all right?”  
  
A lump grew in Shen’s throat at those words, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. When she finally swallowed it, her voice came out as a croak – but the words were heartfelt.   
  
“Thanks, Mom.”  
  
-/-  
  
After the necessary phone call was made to inform her new employer of her consent to their terms, and  _long_  after the inevitable tears were shed between a mother and daughter about to be separated, Shen took the time to pack. Granted, she actually didn’t have a lot  _to_  pack: some spare clothes, a mini-tent, her makeup pouch, and her wallet, which folded neatly into her backpack. Her camera bag was attached to her pack, slotted into a special holder that held the two bags snugly together while allowing her easy access to the sole device that made her life worthwhile: her camera.   
  
Her camera was something special. One of her uncles, an engineer at the Devon Corporation, knew of her dreams, and had given her a Devon Snaptech X – a prototype that he had designed himself – for her birthday present one year. He’d asked her to help him field-test it, and Shen had fallen in love with the thing almost instantly, for the camera was lightweight, easily stored, practically indestructible, and possessed many different firing modes. Unfortunately, all these features had been judged far too cost-ineffective for the camera’s mass production, and though the list of its attributes had drawn the interest of many photographers, its expense had forced it to remain in the experimental phase until it could be produced without negatively impacting profits. As such, the only working model rested in Shen’s hands, and she was only too happy to make use of it, knowing full well that many of her peers would have gratefully killed to get their hands on it.   
  
Even thoughts of her camera, however, could not stall her for long. She had to leave, and so she picked up her backpack and slung it onto her shoulders, pausing on her way out to look into the mirror. A young woman looked back at her: someone of average height and average build. This woman had intelligently changed into a pair of cargo pants, a nylon shirt, a hiking vest, and some boots, but had indulged in a single vanity: a necklace, upon whose slender silver chain a red oval hung. A few errant tear-tracks still lined her cheeks, she saw, and these she wiped away.   
  
She was ready. But though she didn’t truly  _feel_  ready, she walked downstairs, opened the front door of the house, and stepped into the world that awaited her. She didn’t look back; to do so would have been to succumb to the doubt that plagued her despite her mother’s reassurance.   
  
_Every little bird has to fly the nest sometime, right?_  
  
Ten minutes later, she was outside the city limits. The sun was just beginning to rise above the cloud of soot that spiraled endlessly from the core of Mt. Ember, and even though she was leaving behind all she knew, Shen found a certain happiness in the fact that she was following her dream.  
  
And keeping that happiness safely in her heart, she began her walk down the road to a new life.


	2. Prologue: ii

Shen’s first adventure lay in actually getting onto the main route that curved just beneath the hill that separated Lavaridge Town from the outside world. This in itself wasn’t actually all that difficult; with the installation of the stairs that allowed tourists free passage to and from the area, all she really needed to do was walk down several hundred step to accomplish her very first goal on the road to becoming an ace photographer. But as she made her way down these steps, a certain thought occurred to her, the very appearance of which slowed her stride.   
  
This thought concerned the fact that when she had sent her portfolio to the newspaper’s publisher for consideration, she had not been able to hold back a fair amount of self-consciousness over the state of the images that she had placed within it. Some she had been rather proud of: one containing a tourist’s shiny Blaziken had been the pride and joy of her portfolio. She had actually taken over seventy shots that day in order to get the one she liked, a true gem of a photo which caught the Fire-Type in the middle of a full-fledged Blaze Kick, the fury of its determination shaded only in the light of the sun that had just been setting behind Mt. Ember at the very moment her camera’s shutter had closed, bathing the scene in waning light and painting the clouds in the background a set of shades that had captured the attention of everyone to see it from that moment forward. It was truly beautiful to behold, and she had placed it at the forefront of her collection in order to best display the extent of her growing talent.   
  
But since that picture had been taken several years before her bid for a job at the national newspaper, she had had an idea: though she had already been accepted for the position, it would certainly help to show up for work with just a little more in the way of evidence to support her experience with a camera, wouldn’t it? Her new employer had certainly agreed with her when she’d called to confirm her appointment with him earlier that morning; during her trip to Mauville, the editor-in-chief had suggested, she might be able to take a few more pictures to exhibit her skill.  
  
 _“You don’t have to,”_  he had said,  _“but it would certainly help us to understand just what you can do on the road. Don’t feel pressured to be perfect – just take some snapshots of whatever you think might be good for an article.”_  
  
So as Shen stepped from the stairs to Lavaridge and onto Route 112, she began to look for opportunities. She knew that she wouldn’t have to look far, for Trainers were usually scattered around the area, looking for a battle or a chat (usually the former). Such, though, was the life of a person whose fortune was made upon their skill and the understanding of the creatures they carried.   
  
Becoming a Trainer was a relatively simple process: anyone with a Pokémon could go out, buy some assorted medicines, and start their journey without much else in the way of fanfare. The difficulty for such individuals lay in actually maintaining an income, for any money they made was directly tied to their ability to win battles. This particular fact was actually one of the major dissuasions for any adult looking to take the path commonly traversed by the younger members of the population, but Shen wasn’t really interested in the issues keeping older people from becoming Trainers. What she was interested in was who and what she could take pictures of.   
  
Thankfully, a subject was almost immediately given to her.  
  
“Go, Flareon! Use Fire Spin!”  
  
A smile lit the photographer’s lips as the call, given by a Trainer just to her right, resulted in a flash of light that burned the morning mist away. Their Pokémon was currently engaged in a battle with another Trainer’s Machop, who attempted to fend off the constricting flames with dirt kicked up from a sudden sweep of the foot. This was a largely futile effort, for the Flareon simply added even more heat into the area in which the two were battling, and soon the Fighting-Type found itself surrounded by a whirling vortex of fire.  
  
Had she had to tell the truth, Shen actually enjoyed Pokémon battles. Fights such as these, with two people cheering on companions that they had traveled with for times unknown, were a display of the bond that was forged between human and Pokémon through hard work, perseverance, and friendship. Whole books could be written, she knew, about the adventures of such teams, and many books had. But to her, a battle was more than the simple affirmation of a bond: it was a statement of  _life,_  and as such, these fights were some of the most beautiful things in existence.  How could she  _not_  freeze those moments to share with others?  
  
Unslinging her camera bag, she lifted the device out of its protective felt casing, took a general-use lens from a storage compartment, and fitted the two together. Focusing the lens required only a moment of peering through the viewfinder and making the necessary twists; soon, she turned the camera to take in the battle, grinning at the way the floating embers from the Fire-Type’s tail lit up the air.   
  
She only needed a few snaps to capture the scene, making sure to keep at least some of those floating embers within the shot for the best effect. The Trainers were far too preoccupied for her to properly thank them for letting her take the pictures, though, so she decided to move on.   
  
The next group of people had just started their battle, and Shen took a few moments to capture several shots of an encounter between a Beautifly and a Breloom, two creatures that weren’t often seen in her little portion of the continent. Because of this, she paid a little more attention to detail when taking their pictures, zooming in to catch the patterns on the Bug-Type’s wings as it fluttered forward on a Silver Wind.   
  
 _Very nice,_  she thought, taking a shot just as the Breloom retaliated with a Sky Uppercut, its arms suddenly extending to an amazing length in order to better reach its opponent. There weren’t many still shots of something like that, she knew, since it was fiendishly difficult to actually  _time_ the picture to capture that single second when the Grass-Type shot its normally stubby arms forth as if they were made of springs. Fortunately enough, she could cheat with her camera’s burst-fire capability, so it was with a certain amount of smugness that she holstered her equipment, thanked the dueling pair’s Trainers as best she could in the midst of their battle, and continued down the road.  
  
-/-  
  
The first Trainer she actually  _spoke_  with was one who had just finished a match. This person, a middle-aged man, had chosen a wide rock to sit himself on for refreshment, sipping a bottle of water. When Shen approached him, he offered her another bottle, which she politely declined.   
  
She quickly found that this man’s name was Henry, and that he was on his way to Fallabor Town in order to attend a conference for his company, which dealt in outdoor goods and supplies. Since driving a vehicle through the sand-swept wastes of the desert that lay further up the road was all but impossible, however, he’d had to walk from his home in order to reach the area.   
  
“And it’s just as well that my boss is fine with giving a man extra time for battles when he sends him out this far away from home,” he said, taking another sip. “Fighting the kids out here is fun, but having to turn around every time someone catches a glimpse of you takes way too long when you’re trying to get somewhere.”   
  
“But you’ll have enough time to get to your conference?” Shen asked. She knew the demands that such battles took: like Henry had stated, they were fun, but a single Pokémon confrontation could take up to fifteen minutes per combatant. And as the rule that two Trainers absolutely  _had_  to fight upon the very moment contact was established still stood firm, it could take someone nearly two months to travel the length of Hoenn on foot due to the constant cycle of ‘battle, Pokémon Center, and battle again’. It was a standard of a Trainer’s life, but there were those moments when it got to be far too much trouble.   
  
“Oh, plenty of time,” he replied. “I left almost three days before I was supposed to be even this far along. But what’s your story?”  
  
Shen opened her mouth, thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m a photographer for the  _Times._  Just heading back to the office.” Internally, she practically squealed at having said something like that so nonchalantly. She hadn’t intended to say that exact sentence, but the opportunity to try out her new title had been too much of a temptation to resist. And after using it, she decided that it felt  _incredibly_  good to do so.  
  
“I see,” he said. “Well, if you’re a photographer, would you like a shot of my Pokémon?”  
  
She hadn’t thought about trying for that – the conversation had distracted her. “Oh, yes. Yes, I would, if you don’t mind.”  
  
The man nodded, and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small orb from the depths of its containing fabric: a Poké Ball. There wasn’t a soul on the planet who didn’t know what one of  _those_  was, for they were quite possibly the most important items in a person's life. They were bridges over the gulf that stretched between humanity and Pokémon, a way for friendships to start and grow, and as such, they had not simply become a symbol of that friendship, but a standard of existence.   
  
As Henry pushed the button on its otherwise smooth surface and enlarged the device to the relative size of his fist, Shen had to wonder just what was inside that ball. Most Trainers in Hoenn made a habit of taking along a smaller Pokémon on any sort of trip, such as a Poochyena or Electrike. These were simple enough to catch and even simpler to take care of, and were fairly popular amongst the general public. They were  _so_  popular, in fact, that Shen had countless pictures of these two species due to the nearly endless stream of tourists that ran through her home. But the man that tossed the ball so casually into the air didn’t seem like a person who would take along – or even care all that much about – a low-maintenance partner. And she was right.   
  
With the characteristic flash of blue light that heralded the release of its occupant, the Poké Ball brought forth a creature that towered above the photographer’s head. It shook its head, stretching a pair of leathery arms towards the sky… and Shen’s eyebrows rose as a Garchomp shook the cobwebs of what was most likely sleep from its head.   
  
“This here’s Caesar,” Henry said, walking up to pat the dragon’s shoulder. “He wasn’t much of a fighter once, but a few years and a lot of battles help that kind of thing out.” He recoiled as his companion butted him on top of the head with its chin, a look of faint offense twisting the edges of its mouth. “Okay, okay! I’m not telling  _everyone_  about that, am I?”  
  
Despite herself, Shen chuckled at that – the man was obviously close to his Garchomp. But humor didn’t divert her from her primary goal, and her camera was up in mere moments, her fingers already switching the lens to something a bit more suited for a larger Pokémon.   
  
“Well, then,” she said. “Would you mind trying out a few positions for me?”  
  
-/-  
  
The next half hour was spent with Shen directing both Trainer and dragon into assuming various poses: some standing, some triumphant, and one that required the Garchomp to actually run towards her while the photographer toggled the burst-fire on her camera, collecting a plethora of shots. These were later scrolled through, and she selected the two that produced the effect that she’d been looking for: a first-person view of a charging dragon, captured with all of the emotion that anyone  _faced_  with a charging dragon would undoubtedly feel.   
  
As a professional courtesy, Shen sent a copy of the best of these two pictures to Henry’s Pokénet mailbox directly from her camera, which he immediately pulled up on his PokéNav, his Garchomp looking over his shoulder at the tiny screen all the while. Both seemed satisfied with the results, if anything could be read from the Pokémon’s sudden smile, and for a moment, the girl basked in the glow of having her work appreciated. In the next moment, though, she remembered the fact that she actually had someone  _else_  to send her work to, and she put her camera back in its case, preparing to say her goodbyes and return to her journey to Mauville City.   
  
However, she didn’t get the chance to say what she’d wanted to, for Henry looked up from his device with a peculiar look on his face.   
  
“Hey. You’d like the chance to get some more pictures, right?”  
  
“Yes, I would,” Shen said, the slightest hint of apprehension creeping into her tone. She was getting concerned about staying in one place too long; if she didn’t continue walking, having to explain the amount of time that she’d taken to get from her home to the newspaper’s office in Mauville to her new employer would be anything but simple. But the Trainer had allowed her to take some good pictures, so she let him continue.  
  
“Well,” he said, closing his PokéNav with a  _snap,_  “I just got a message from a friend of mine at work. One of his friends called him to say that they saw a pretty rare Pokémon in the forest nearby, and they wanted to see if I could catch it for them. I’m not really sure what  _kind_  of Pokémon it is – they just said that it was white. I have some extra time, so I might as well see if I can find it.” He shrugged. “If you want to tag along, you can – you might get some photos of whatever’s in there.” The word ‘there’ was accompanied with a jerk of the thumb at one section of the stretch of trees that lay behind him, their broad and leafy tops stabbing into the sky like a set of green fingers.   
  
Shen knew that forest, for Hoenn had one of the largest spans of foliage in the known world. Trees utterly  _festooned_  any pathway not explicitly carved out by mankind for mankind’s own usage, blocking off the civilized world for the purpose of establishing a second world: a world filled with wild Pokémon. Unfortunately, it was also incredibly dangerous to be walking in that forest, since wild Pokémon were far less… reasonable than their tamed counterparts. She  _did_  have to admit, though, that the offer was tempting, since the chance to take some more pictures to the newspaper’s main office was something that she very much wanted to take advantage of. But going into a dark and empty place with someone that she didn’t know didn’t really sit well with her.  
  
 _Candy from strangers, Shen,_  she warned herself.  _You’ve heard enough stories about people going missing in the woods. And who’s to say that this guy isn’t someone that you don’t want to get mixed up with? He might just be a…_  
  
Her train of thought was interrupted by a flash of movement behind one of the trees in the distance. It was so sudden, so slight, that she nearly missed it, but for the merest fraction of a moment, she saw  _something_  pass into the forest.   
  
Something white.   
  
 _What… what is that?_  
  
Henry was looking at her a bit oddly, but she barely noticed the change in his expression, so focused was she on what she’d seen. Her eyes raked across the treeline, searching for another hint of white.   
  
 _No, that can’t possibly be what he’s looking for,_  she thought after a few seconds, the sudden lurch of anxiety that had gripped her heart fading.  _That’d be absurd. Heck, I’ve barely even heard about this ‘rare Pokémon’ that he’s talking about; for all I know, that’s probably some guy just trying to take a shortcut through the woods back to his house! It’d be insanely uncommon for something like that to show up just as I’ve heard about it. Granted, it would be nice if that were true, but as it is, it might be better for me to just get back on the road._  And so she shrugged, returning her attention to the man in front of her. “Actually, I think that I’ll be okay with the shots I have. I really need to be getting over to the office, anyway.”   
  
“Well, all right,” he said. “To be honest, I don’t think that this kind of thing’s anything but a wild Swanna chase, but it’s a good way to kill some extra time, and-” His sentence faded as Shen’s gaze whipped towards the forest again, drawn by something that he couldn’t see. “Are... are you all right?”  
  
But Shen wasn’t listening, for deep in the forest, just barely visible to the eye, had come a second glimpse of something.   
  
Something white…   
  
The fact that she might have hallucinated that second sighting didn’t even register. Neither did her duty to her new employer, her responsibility for keeping her schedule, or even her inhibitions about running into a potentially dangerous creature-filled forest. In the face of the discovery she’d made, the only possible reaction was one born purely of instinct.  
  
 _I have to get a picture._  
  
Hitching up her camera, she dashed after that gleam, disappearing into the forest.


	3. Prologue: iii

The Hoenn Standard Times had long been hailed as a pioneer of its craft, and although it had only done one thing in its two hundred years of operation, it had long been decided that doing that one thing  _well_  would be the standard of the newspaper company. It was the one expectation that the  _Times_  had of its employees, and any of the hundreds of men and women toiling in that place would have told a curious mind that regardless of how high on the ladder a person was, the rule was the same:  _do your job well._    
  
Because of that rule, the  _Times_  had also been hailed as a very nice place to work, for it was a far more open-minded place than most other places of employment. A paper boy’s word was the equal of a manager’s where grievances were concerned, and the facility supervisor had even gone so far as to post up signs saying as much throughout his building in order to encourage the reporting of misconduct, though actual complaints were few due to the relatively equal footing that any employee could enjoy when placed under the spotlight with their coworkers. This in turn made the supervisor’s job far easier, and made the man himself far more jolly during the day.  
  
But every morning, just before the place got busy, the supervisor met with the chief editor for coffee and a chat. It wasn’t a typical social call; the two discussed local events and pored over articles turned in by reporters overnight. Coffee and the odd donut made the pile of paperwork bearable, though, and the supervisor tended to look forward to these meetings for the pleasant warmth that his drink brought his stomach, if nothing else.   
  
As he opened the door to the editor’s office, he found the man already sitting at the coffee table that stood in the middle of the room, picking through papers.   
  
“Hey, Leo.”  
  
Leoric Blomford was getting along in years: the once sable hair that he’d proudly borne in younger years was now shot through in places with gray, and though he kept his beard trimmed, there was that subtle bit of unkemptness that hinted at a wilder man, now suppressed by the burden of age and responsibility. Nevertheless, he stood up, shook his colleague’s hand, and motioned to the steaming mug of coffee and frosted pastry sitting on the other side of the table.  
  
“Good morning, Joe. Help yourself; there’s something I need to finish looking through first.”  
  
The supervisor did, sitting down and taking his mug and donut without ado. “So, what’s the word today?”  
  
“Honestly? The usual,” Leoric replied, not taking his eyes off of the paper that he held in one hand. “There hasn’t been much in the way of anything interesting that’s happened in the past few days.”  
  
“No fires?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“No big crimes?”  
  
“None that we haven’t already covered.”  
  
“No… Pokémon outbreaks?” Joe said, digging deep into the intellectual barrel for that option.  
     
“No, nothing. It’s mostly agriculture and stargazing that’s been of much interest these days, and we can’t go on posting the same thing every week.”  
  
“What about those Gym Leader interviews you were doing?”   
  
Leoric shook his head. “We just sent the last one off with this week’s issue.” Sighing, he set his paper down, picking up his own coffee cup in the same motion. “You know, it’s almost frightening how stagnant the place gets in the spring. Right after we run the holiday themes, we’re practically running on fumes for five months.”  
  
It was a common understanding in the office that the editor-in-chief was a bit passionate when it came to getting a good paper out. Granted, that was the requirement for those who worked for the  _Times,_  but Leoric took things somewhat further than his predecessors in his sometimes fanatical drive to make every single paper a ‘good paper’. Joe knew this very well; in ten years of working with – and sometimes against – the man, he’d seen him go so far as to completely scrap a draft in favor of something entirely different only hours before printing, throwing everything and everyone in the building into a frenzy with the pressure of coming up with an entire week’s run on the spot. But no one really complained, because every single time ‘Loony Leo’ (as some of the junior managers called him) actually did something like that, the paper turned out perfectly tuned to the needs of its readers.   
  
Every. Single. Time.  
  
So though Joe understood perfectly well that there wasn’t any real danger of stagnation where the paper was concerned, he also understood that his colleague didn’t really enjoy what he thought of as ‘downtime’, since even the possibility of having things go stale wasn’t a situation that he wanted to court in his career. Thus, he exercised a bit of tact and decided to change the subject. “So what’s this I’ve heard about that girl you hired on the other day?”  
  
“It was today, actually.” A bit more life returned to the editor’s expression as he said it. “She applied some time ago for that journalist position we advertised.”  
  
“And how’s her work?”  
  
Leoric reached into the pile of papers on the table and came up with a photograph, handing it over. “See for yourself.”  
  
Joe did. One of the pictures depicted a Blaziken – and a shiny one, no less! – in full flame, using a Blaze Kick in mid-air. The quality of the image was stunning; the photographer quite obviously hadn’t skimped on the expense of her equipment. “Not bad at all. I like the way she caught the light – nice touch.”  
  
“Yes, it is. She’s on her way over here to introduce herself before I send her off to Kalos for her dry run.”  
  
“A dry run? Wait, you’re not actually going to be  _paying_  her for that, are you?”   
  
“Why not? Her work’s good enough; I did some research before I contacted her. She’s apparently a sensation in her hometown, and some of the other rags have been knocking down her door to get her on board with them.”  
  
“Such as?” the supervisor asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Oh, let’s see.” Leoric reached down to the table once more, picking up another sheet of paper. “There’s the  _Investigator,_  the  _Primetime,_  and  _Behind the Lines,_  for a start.”  
  
“Those gossip sheets?” Joe scoffed. Most of the  _Times_  employees might have shared his sentiment; there wasn’t any love lost between the newspaper and the magazines that mainly built their empire on juicy half-truths and wild accusations. “That’s hardly a resounding endorsement.”  
  
“Maybe, but she’s had her work featured on the  _Minute,_  and that’s good enough for me.”   
  
That one brought the supervisor up short. The Global Minute wasn’t your standard paper: it was the single most popular source of media on the planet. They had a television channel that was completely dedicated to round-the-clock news, a daily newspaper, a radio station, and even a PokéLink site with regularly updated articles, which cemented their place as the undisputed king of information. But that wasn’t the only part; the  _Minute_  was almost insanely picky about what work they used in their publications. Many of their stories had won awards. Many of the pictures  _in_ those stories had been transferred to museums as works of art. Still, if what his colleague was saying about his new employee was true, and this person  _had_  had a picture on those glorious pages, that begged another question.   
  
“Then why in the heck is she coming to work for us?”  
  
“She says that it’s been a dream of hers. Personally, I think she’s crazy to apply here, since she could easily have landed a job at the  _Minute_  with that kind of work. But,” Leoric said, cracking a smile, “I’m not going to look a gift Ponyta in the mouth. Especially when one’s fallen into my lap.”  
  
-/-  
  
At that moment, the ‘gift Ponyta’ under discussion was doing something that many would have considered to be very, very unwise: running pell-mell through the Hoenn forest, dodging rocks and branches and other such obstacles that nature placed in her way. Truth be told, she didn’t really see them, for she was too far gone with sheer excitement.   
  
If there was a specific joy that Shen took out of her chosen career, it was the thrill of a new experience. Photography was something that she’d originally taken up as a hobby, but as she’d come to understand the beauty of it, it had evolved into nothing less than an obsession. Each picture allowed her to freeze time itself, opening a window into an aspect of life. There were  _always_  new details to be found within each shot, new pieces of the world to be explored, even if these pieces were nothing more than the very grains of dust kicked up from a foot or stray breeze. In her more philosophic moments, she might have likened the sensation to that of looking at the world through a microscope, for it was the ability to see things in a new light that fueled the fires of her passion.   
  
That passion, in turn, often drove her to dispense with the thing that some might have called ‘higher judgment’ in the pursuit of a new snapshot, and it was because of this quirk that she had dashed into the forests of Hoenn without even so much as a second thought. Through the trees she ran, heedless of the danger, all to sate a need that clawed at her even more than hunger or thirst. For in the world that she had found herself in, the picture that she had to take was all the sustenance she needed. And no amount of foliage would stand in her way.  
  
 _I have to get the picture. I_  have  _to._  
  
Thus was the extent of her thought process, and it was this single-minded focus that nearly had her dashing past her next glimpse of the very thing she sought. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw yet another flicker of white, and she skidded to a halt in what her frenzied senses eventually recognized as a clearing.  
  
A few moments’ pause allowed just enough intelligence to surface for her to realize that this particular clearing was actually rather beautiful. Though she’d run through a barrage of leaves and branches on her way into it, the area that she stood in was completely devoid of anything other than the grass that carpeted the ground for several hundred feet in front of her. The air, however, was filled with the scent of Cheri blossoms, and with a start, she realized that the trees that ringed the clearing were in bloom, the flowers that would eventually bear fruit waving in the slight breeze that blew over the treetops. This was definitely something that she hadn’t seen before, and as such, she raised her camera, snapping a picture of the fluttering trees before the moment of awe passed her by.   
  
Satisfied with her newest shot, she looked down, away from the trees… and saw what she had been pursuing.      
  
And she stopped dead.  
  
Dimly, she remembered that she’d seen one once. Only once, on a holiday television special that she’d watched with her mother. And even then, the picture had been so grainy as to give her only an idea of what the diaphanous figure actually looked like. But now… now, one was right in front of her, a pillar of white in the grass.   
  
 _A Gardevoir._  
  
The Psychic’s appearance presented an opportunity that she’d never even  _considered_  she’d have in her life as a photographer. Not when she’d been at home. Not when she’d been applying for the newspaper. And  _certainly_  not on her  _very first day_  as a professional field journalist!  
  
As a Pokémon, a Gardevoir was one of the most popular choices of the older, wiser generation of Trainers. Their dual Psychic/Fairy nature provided unique advantages for those who chose to battle with them, but the main result of their popularity was due to their appearance. These Pokémon were  _gorgeous:_  with long, flowing gowns, slender figures, and neatly coiffed hair, they stood as objects of distinction, of feminine beauty that even some humans envied. Magazines loved them, movies adored them; some regions – notably Kalos – even had actors that worked with their own Gardevoir, such as Diantha.   
  
 _Someone up there must really, really love me,_  she thought, reaching ever-so-slowly to her camera bag. She couldn’t afford to scare the Pokémon off, not when she could almost  _taste_  the quality of the picture to come. Not when she knew that getting a shot of a creature that rare would be a priceless representation of her skill as a photographer.   
  
Her fingers trembled on her camera as she tugged it from her bag; it was only with a supreme force of will that she was able to steady them long enough to move the device into position.   
  
 _Steady, girl… just aim and shoot. It’s as easy as falling off a log. Just aim and…_  
  
…and it was gone.   
  
 _What? No! Where’d it…_    
  
Startled, she looked away from the viewfinder, searching the clearing for the missing creature. Something flickered in her peripheral vision, and she spun around, aiming the camera towards… nothing.   
  
Horror entered her heart at that. Had the Gardevoir disappeared? Used Teleport to poof itself away in a Psychic-Type’s insult to intruders everywhere? It  _couldn’t_  do that, not when she’d come all this way into the forest just to get her shot! Not when she’d practically risked her life in…  
  
…and then a warm, damp wind brushed her right ear, and the photographer froze. Slowly, she turned her head, and saw that the creature was leaning over her shoulder, peering down at the camera that she so reverently held in both hands. After a moment, the Pokémon stepped around from behind her, bringing itself directly in front of the person who had tried to take its picture. This angle of inspection seemed to be what it had been looking for, and it bent to take an even closer look at what she was trying to do with her camera.   
  
It was very close, she realized. Had she wanted to, she could easily reach out and touch the fabric of its gown… but though she almost did as that particular thought registered, something else did, too.    
  
Its chest was bare. Clothed, yes, in the sheer material that all of its species wore so proudly. She was even close enough to actually be able to see that chest rise and fall with each breath it took, shifting the fabric ever so slightly with the movement. But...   
  
 _How very odd,_  she thought, looking over the area where something red would normally be proudly protruding. Had the creature gotten into a fight and lost its horn? Or had it not been born with one at all? Regardless of how it had happened, though, the fact that it  _had_  happened only enriched the opportunity that had been given to her, improving the quality of the picture that she had yet to take. And taking that picture was absurdly simple: all she had to do was raise her camera. But in order to get a proper shot, she would have to step back from the Psychic so that she could focus on it, and that action could possibly serve as one that would cause it to flee. That kind of conundrum was maddening: here was a chance to capture an image, a chance that she might not have again, and  _she didn’t dare take it!_    
  
For endless seconds, the photographer and Pokémon stood there, their mutual attentions on her camera the only tie that held them. But the desperation that she felt couldn’t be held back for long, and soon the need to move, to actually snap the picture that she was dying to take, was almost overwhelming.   
  
She was just about to throw caution to the wind, to make the gamble of moving, when a massive  _crash_  echoed through the forest. The sound was so loud, in fact, that she jumped, forgetting all about the creature in front of her as she turned her head with a jerk to the area where she had entered the clearing.   
  
The trees in that direction were shaking, waving like mere twigs in the wind as something moved through them. Before she could turn her thoughts to running, though, one of them exploded forward, passing her on the right as she stood there, stunned.   
  
 _What in…_  
  
“Hey, lady!”  
  
Right behind the path of the tree came a very familiar – if dusty – Garchomp, its Trainer holding tightly to its shoulders as the Dragon-Type moved forward to stand at her side. Panting like a bellows, the Pokémon leaned down so that the man on its back could slide off and face the person he’d followed into the forest.  
  
“Man, lady, what the heck is your problem?” Henry said, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s not safe out here! What would happen if something came after you, huh?”  
  
“But… but I saw it,” Shen stammered.  
  
Exasperation turned to confusion. “Saw what?”  
  
She pointed. “That.”  
  
Amazingly, the Gardevoir was still there after the tree had flown past it. It had retreated nearly a hundred feet from where it had been inspecting Shen’s camera, but it was still very visible in the midday sun, and as the man’s eyes followed her finger, confusion turned to surprise. “What… oh, no way. That’s a Gardevoir, isn’t it? You don’t even see one of those out this far inland. What’s it doing  _here?”_  
  
“I have no idea,” she said, shaking her head. “But it’s incredible, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s incredible,” he said. “And I think that it’d be even  _more_  incredible if I were to catch it.”  
  
“What?”  
  
A grin split the man’s lips, and he pointed at the Psychic, drawing himself fully upright.   
  
“Caesar? Take it down.”


End file.
